Heroes by David Hagberg (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

it wouldn’t hurt to unbutton your holster flap and make sure your Luger is loaded.”

Hewel nodded, then stepped down out of the plane. Canaris unstrapped his seat belt, shoved the seat back ahead of him forward, and Hewel helped him climb out.

The plane was black with a lot of windows and struts and with very tall, spindly landing gear. Standing away from it, the machine looked like some sort of gigantic prehistoric insect. The swastika was painted on the tail.

Hewel walked away from the plane and stood looking down the runway. Canaris joined him and lit a cigarette.

“It is very well maintained,” Hewel said. “Is there a caretaker?”

“From what I understand, no. He is no longer here. Someone from the town comes out on a regular basis.”

“Strange …” Hewel started, but they both heard the sound of a light plane overhead at the same time.

Hewel spotted it first on its downwind leg. He pointed.

“I see it,” Canaris said, stubbing out his cigarette. “Stick close to the plane,” he added. He went back to it and pulled out the cardboard envelope that contained the photographs Schey had sent over from the United States.

Hewel had taken out his Luger and he checked to make sure it was loaded. His face seemed pale in the moonlight.

“This is a very delicate operation, Erich. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“I understand, sir.”

“It is of utmost importance to the Reich that I convince these people what I’m giving them is real. Do you understand that?”

Hewel shook his head, “No, sir, I don’t think I do. But it doesn’t matter; I’m just the pilot, and I can do that for you.”

“Very good,” Canaris said, patting the man on the arm. The other plane was on final and was dropping for a landing.

Hewel’s eyes widened slightly. It was a Piper Cub with Red Cross markings. But he didn’t say a thing. Nor would he, Canaris knew.

“Steady now,” Canaris said. “Keep your eyes open. If anyone else shows up, we must leave here immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

The plane touched down just in front of them, then breezed past, the wind ruffling their hair.

Canaris stepped out into the middle of the runway and headed after it, getting about ten yards when the Piper Cub stopped and turned.

For a moment the plane just sat there, its prop turning over.

But then its engine died and the door flaps came open.

Two men got out of the plane; one of them headed up the runway. Canaris started walking again. The night was very still.

There were no insects, no sounds at all from the countryside.

Canaris felt very much alone.

Alien Welsh Dulles, chief of OSS activities for Europe, was in his early fifties. He was somewhat taller than Canaris, with gray hair and glasses. He stopped a few feet away and looked beyond Canaris to where Hewel stood by the Fiesler. Then he came closer and stuck out his hand.

“It is a unique experience meeting you like this, Admiral Canaris,” Dulles said. His voice was soft.

Canaris shook his hand. “But not a pleasure?” he asked, his English a little rusty.

“A rare pleasure, sir.”

Canaris nodded. The other man seemed much younger, much more vital and energetic than he would have suspected. There had been a spring in his step. There were even laugh lines around his eyes. Of course, they were winning; Dulles had every right to be happy.

“I trust you kept knowledge of this meeting to a minimum?”

“There are others who know. But the list is not large. And they all are to be trusted implicitly.”

Canaris bit off the obvious rejoinder. Instead, he said, “You telephoned Washington? There was time.”

Dulles just stared at him, a flinty look coming into his eyes.

“What if I came here to discuss terms of ending the war?”

“No. You are not here for that.”

“If I were?” Canaris insisted. He didn’t know why he was doing this, playing this game.

“We would refuse. Unconditional surrender and the total dismantlement of your military forces is the minimum we will accept.”

Canaris sighed. The butterflies were back in his stomach. The night was warm. “Your government is in the process of constructing a new weapon, Mr. Dulles.”

Dulles shrugged. “We, like you, are constructing many new things.”

“This will be a new type of bomb. One in which atoms will be smashed.”

Dulles held his silence. :

“The work name for this bomb is the Manhattan District Project. It is the Army Corps of Engineers, I believe, who are making it.”

“I have not heard of such a project.”

“I have,” Canaris said; he slapped the cardboard envelope against his leg. Dulles’ eyes were drawn to it. “In a place near Knoxville, Tennessee, there are gigantic factories for the distillation of a pure isotope of uranium. Near Hanford, Washington, at another large plant, work is being done to extract a material called plutonium. And somewhere near Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the mountains at a place called Los Alamos, there is a laboratory at which many of your chief scientists are at work.”

Dulles was thunderstruck. He could not hide it. Still, he said nothing.

“Shall I continue?” Canaris asked.

“All that is there, in the package?”

Canaris nodded. “At your Tennessee operation, your engineers are trying several methods to separate the uranium isotope.

The gas diffusion method, at a plant which you call K-25, seems to be the only one that will work.”

“My God,” Dulles said, his shoulders falling. “Oh, my God … you …”

Canaris held out the cardboard envelope. For a moment Dulles made no move to accept it. “No one else in the Reich has this information. Just me.” Dulles took the envelope. “Why?” he asked.

“Why am I being a traitor to my country?”

Dulles nodded..

“This is a very important bomb. It will end the war for whoever possesses it. My country is morally … bankrupt.”

Dulles’ eyes widened. “Strange of you to say such a thing.”

Canaris ignored the slur, incredible considering the circumstances.

“This information was sent to me by one of my people in the States. He has worked at the Tennessee plant.”

“Yes?”

“His name is Dieter Schey.